


I am Condemned (I am Damned)

by DoreyG



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cages, Canonical Character Death, Community: comment_fic, Community: hc_bingo, Everybody is Messed Up And Everybody Deserves a Hug, Gen, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Secret Identity, Talking, common ground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can barely believe your nerve," he says flatly.</p>
<p>"I can barely believe it either," Daredevil, fool and meddler and boy who thinks he has the right to play god, nods in reply. Standing here, across from him, he looks so small - not like the last time, not like when he was the devil in red come to rip everything away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am Condemned (I am Damned)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Daredevil (TV), Wilson Fisk/Matt Murdock, conjugal visit" at Comment_Fic, and the prompt "cages" on my HC_Bingo card. Yay morally dubious babies!

"I can barely believe your nerve," he says flatly.

"I can barely believe it either," Daredevil, fool and meddler and boy who thinks he has the right to play god, nods in reply. Standing here, across from him, he looks so small - not like the last time, not like when he was the devil in red come to rip everything away.

Maybe it's the lack of the outfit, red leather replaced by the familiar flimsy black and mask hiding the eyes.

Maybe it's because he - Daredevil - _wants_ to appear less, and for some reason that makes him even angrier.

"What do you want?" He snaps, and strides the two steps that it takes to tower over his little vigilante. His little _superhero_ , who feels so comfortable going where he simply doesn't _belong_ , "to tease? To mock? If either is the case, I must ask if you haven't done enough _already_."

Daredevil pauses for a second, quietly thoughtful, and then tilts his head. It'd be so easy - So. _Easy_ \- to snap his neck from that position, a quick twist and all his problems _disappeared_ , "to talk."

...But he doesn't.

Perhaps because he knows that all of his problems, all of the cages he's created for himself, are far too big to fix so easily now. Maybe because he's strangely fascinated, in much the manner of a witness to a car wreck. Either way, he barks harshly in laughter instead - only leans closer, "and what is there to talk about?"

"You..." It's worth it, for the way that Daredevil hesitates. Worth it, to see him off balance in such a deliciously reeling way, "you aren't a monster, Fisk."

"I know," he says shortly, and watches - with fascination - as Daredevil's jaw firms, as Daredevil's shoulders lift as if he's bracing himself for a blow, "but thank you for informing me of the obvious, any other points that you'd like to raise?"

"You also aren't evil," Daredevil says quietly, carefully, as if he's just realized how deeply foolish he's being in this tiny room with his worst enemy towering just a few breaths away, "I... I want to understand."

"The concept of moral relativity?" He asks, making sure that his sneer can be heard.

"No," Daredevil, surprisingly, answers. And lifts his head to him, regards him with a defiant set of the jaw that makes him pause for just a moment, "I want to understand why you did those things. And how you can stand here even now, without an ounce of regret."

...Ah.

How unexpected. He pauses for a second, considers licking his lips but thinks better of it. He may be like a witness to a car wreck, but that doesn't mean that he has to be a willing participant, "I already told you, I already told everybody: I want to make this city a better place."

"Don't we all," Daredevil says wryly, with a little shift of his shoulders that almost invites... Common feeling, such a pathetic concept, "but why did you choose such brutal means?"

"You are one to talk."

"I use the means that I was given, the means that God gave me. But you..." Daredevil takes in a deep breath, lifts his chin again. It's a gesture designed to cover his sudden slip, the sudden entrance of religion into a godless hole - to his credit, as much as he is loathe to give it, it _almost_ works, "you aren't a monster, you aren't evil, you don't have the devil in you. You've done bad things, but you could've so easily done good with what you were given. _Why_?"

"I am under no obligation to-" he starts hotly, pauses again, allows himself a soft laugh. It appears that being gentle, being subtle in a way that he has tried so very hard to refine, works so much better here, "what am I saying, you already know your own version of the truth. My father taught me that to be respected, you had to be able to take a step beyond what the ordinary man would."

"Your father," Daredevil says, very softly, "who you murdered."

He stiffens briefly, almost gives into the urge to close his eyes. But that would be weakness, and he has already sworn not to show that here "...Yes."

"I may be stating the obvious again, Fisk, but murdering somebody isn't a sign of respect," Daredevil, the man in the mask who thinks he knows _everything_ , tilts his head. Doesn't smirk, doesn't mock - just tilts his head, and waits like he's some sort of apex predator, "it's a sign of rage, hate..."

"Passion," he interrupts flatly, and is surprised to find his fists unclenched. They should be clenched, he should be _furious_ , and yet... He's only faintly curious, tired in a way that has been building up for fifty odd years, "you are correct in part. I was angry, a little, but I didn't hate him. I should've hated him, I should've _loathed_ him, and yet..."

Daredevil only keeps his head tilted. His lips twitch, briefly, but he doesn't move.

"...Yet," he pauses, laughs a little - is gratified, if barely, to see Daredevil flinch just a little at the noise, "have you ever known that you should hate somebody, should hate somebody so much that you should want to scour the earth of their very memory, and yet couldn't?"

"...Yes."

"Then you understand my relationship with my father," he smiles a little, shrugs a little. So informal, and yet so very needed, "and, in part, my relationship with this city. Because I can't hate it, no matter how hard I try."

"And can't help but love it, no matter how much you long to feel anything else," Daredevil whispers, and then pauses. He gets the sense that he's being re-examined, ever so slowly. It bothers him far less than it should, "I can understand that, yes."

"I thought so."

"I mean, on a personal-" the man pauses slightly, clamps his lips together as if holding back thoughts. It's a fascinating slight, a faintly amusing one to see his worst enemy bought to such an uncontrolled point before him, "you still deserve to be in prison, Fisk."

He allows himself a sharp smirk, but doesn't move. Somehow he feels that Daredevil deserves that, for such ample amusement provided, "in your mind, doubtlessly."

"But..." And Daredevil pauses, and Daredevil sighs. And Daredevil looks up at him, and takes a slow step back like a sacrifice that he can't quite name, "but. Perhaps neither of us are monsters, and perhaps both of us deserve understanding. We shall see."

He's so taken aback that he finds himself frozen for a long moment, only barely recovers to lunge forward with a sharp, "I-"

But it's already too late.

By the time he recovers, by the time he starts thinking again with a clarity as sharp as a bloodstained knife, Daredevil has already melted away again. Leaving only him, not a monster after all, with his thoughts for company.


End file.
